by Brenda Novak
He sipped his wine. “The bar has since gone out of business,” he went on, “which is no surprise. But it wasn’t even in Whiskey Creek. It was here in Jackson. My father liked to drink outside of town because he didn’t have to see too many familiar faces.” He lifted his glass, only this time he merely stared at the wine. “Anyway, after they were both wasted, Fenley started getting in my dad’s face. It might’ve been okay even then if he hadn’t mentioned my mom. But he did.”
India gripped the napkin in her lap. She could tell his story was reaching its gruesome climax, which made her feel ill. She understood what it was like to witness such a violent act—to be one of the heartbroken people who could appear on the latest true crime show. Dateline had contacted her to get her story, not that she’d been in any frame of mind to talk to them. For one thing, she was afraid someone would see her on TV and decide she wasn’t as broken up about her husband’s death as she should be. Then all the suspicion and accusations would begin again, and she couldn’t live with that. It’d been one of the tougher aspects of what she’d been through, particularly since she had made some concessions that night, done things she’d rather not remember, let alone talk about. She was already prone to blaming herself.
“What did Tolson have to say about your mother?” she asked.
A muscle moved in Rod’s cheek. She sensed that what he was about to say wasn’t easy for him, but, after setting down his glass, he answered. “That he could see why she’d kill herself rather than live with him.”
India’s stomach tensed. Apparently, Rod’s family had been through a tragedy even worse than she’d first thought. “Your mother committed suicide?”
His chest rose as he drew a deep breath. “A year and a half before the shooting. She suffered from depression, couldn’t seem to get on top of it. Anyway, that’s when my father started drinking heavily. He couldn’t deal with losing her, especially in that way. So when Tolson said what he did—” his eyes took on a far-off look “—my dad went off. He rushed out to his truck, got his gun, and...that was it.”
He shot Tolson in cold blood? India didn’t want to say the words. Apparently, neither did Rod, because he left the story there.
“I’m afraid this isn’t very light dinner conversation,” he added.
It wasn’t light at all. She was seeing visions of Sebastian looming over her with that gun, would never forget the dark shadow he’d cast over her and Charlie’s bed. “I’m really sorry,” she murmured. “About everything.”
“It’s in the past.”
She shifted in her seat. “Now that your father’s out, what does he do all day if he doesn’t work?”
“He thinks he works—and I guess he sort of does. Dylan gave him an old car to restore. Maybe, once he’s finished, he’ll be able to sell it, and he and Anya will have enough to get an apartment. That’s what we’re hoping.”
She took another bite of her prime rib. “But...how will they keep the apartment if he can’t get a job and she doesn’t work? Or does she have some kind of disability or other income?”
“Anya?” He laughed without mirth. “She has nothing. She’s an addict. I don’t think California doles out money for that quite yet—although, if she didn’t have what she needed, she’d figure out some way to get it. She always has.”
“Your father loves her, though?”
“Let’s just say he’s desperate enough to put up with her. It’s worth it to him to have a warm body in his bed every night, and he feels a certain amount of loyalty to her, since she married him while he was behind bars.”
India had cut her prime rib into small, bite-size pieces, but she was pushing them around her plate more than she was eating. Seeing that he’d finish his meal long before she did, she lifted her fork to her mouth. “If he spent so much time...out of circulation, how did they meet? Did she know him from before?”
“No. She found his picture on a matchmaking website for convicts.”
“Sites like that really exist?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re set up as if they’re arranging pen pals, but you can imagine how it typically goes. Anya was writing quite a few inmates, sending them naked pictures and explicit letters.” He frowned. “That should tell you something about her. I bet she only agreed to marry my dad and drop the others because he was getting out soon and promised to take care of her, which wasn’t exactly realistic. He believed he’d come home and take over the business we’d built, even though Amos Auto Body hadn’t been worth much when he went away. Dylan was the one who turned it around.”
“You didn’t let him take it back?”
“No. We came up with an amount we felt it would’ve been worth, although he would’ve lost it without us, and we’ve been paying him that in monthly installments. Gives him money for gas, what few groceries he buys, clothes and stuff. Still, it’s not enough to live on, and it’ll only last for another five years. But he should be eligible for social security at that point.”
“Why not let him work for you until then? Pay him a wage?”
“We tried that, for a short time. It created too much animosity. He won’t take orders from us, and we won’t let him run the place. So we had to make a few changes. Honestly? Most of us—except maybe Mack—don’t want him there at all.”
She was too full to continue eating, so she put her napkin beside her plate. “Who came up with the idea of buying him out?”
“Dylan, of course.”
“I can see why you admire your big brother. He seems to be quite the businessman.”
Rod finished the bite he’d taken. “He’s good at everything. I don’t know how he managed. We certainly didn’t make life any easier for him.”
“I bet you’ve worked hard over the years, though—like he has.”
“It was that or get split up and put into foster care.”
For a new acquaintance, he’d shared a lot of personal information with her. At first she was so surprised by what she’d learned, she didn’t think about that, but then she realized he wouldn’t reveal such things to just anyone. She got the feeling he didn’t focus too deeply on anything that wasn’t directly relevant, and that meant he had a reason for sharing what he had. Once she considered that, she was fairly confident she could guess what the reason was. “So...you know what it’s like to be intimately connected to someone who...who’s killed a man.”
He swirled his potatoes with his fork. “I do.”
She waited until he met her gaze. “And you know how Charlie died, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I looked it up on the internet.”
Of course. There was plenty of information online. Charlie had been an important part of the community, so his murder was big news, especially when the police thought she might’ve had a hand in it. “Wife Murders Husband for Money” was more salacious than a random killing. “That’s why you told me about your parents?”
“Partly. Although what happened to our family isn’t exactly privileged information. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you all about it. I thought it might help you feel more comfortable to know you’re not alone. Unbelievable, hurtful, humiliating shit happens to other people, too.”
“Even here.”
“Even here,” he repeated. “Did you think it would be different?”
“It certainly looks different. Anyway, I wasn’t trying to be secretive about my own background,” she explained. “I just... I didn’t want to drag it here with me.”
“I can see why. People love to gossip. They’ve gossiped about my family since I can remember.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not anymore. But it hasn’t always been that way. For years, my brothers and I fought back—mostly out of pride. We were determined not to let anyone look down on us. Now I wonder why we bothered. Who cares what other people think? All that fight
ing was a waste of time and energy. So if what I’ve learned can help you...”
She leaned back to study him. When he noticed that she’d stopped eating, so did he. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It was nice of you to reach out.”
“Terrible things happen to good people, too. Maybe it’s not fair, but that’s the randomness of life.”
She wanted to agree—God, did she want to agree—but she couldn’t allow him to chalk her misfortune up to randomness if he didn’t fully understand the role she’d played in Charlie’s death. She deserved more of the blame for her situation than he did for his. He’d been a child when everything went so wrong for him; he couldn’t possibly have been the cause of it.
She, on the other hand...
“But you read that Charlie’s murderer was...someone I once dated, right?”
His gaze never wavered. “I did, yes.”
“And you also read that I’m the one who let him into our lives? That I gave him our address?” She flinched at the crushing guilt. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was presenting him with the evidence that had convicted her in the minds of so many, especially after professing her innocence to all those people for so long. She really didn’t want to tarnish the present with the past. But she felt she was being less than honest or ducking responsibility if she kept those details to herself.
“Yes,” he said.
“And that doesn’t make you wonder if I did it on purpose? If I planned my husband’s death?”
“Did you?” he countered.
She’d thought she’d cried all the tears she was going to cry. The last thing she wanted to do was break down while she was on a date. But the damn lump in her throat swelled and her eyes burned. “No. I never dreamed Sebastian would do what he did. I was trying to help him.” A tear fell and she dashed it away. “He was talking crazy, telling me he hated his wife. That he couldn’t stay with her. That he had no reason to live. I told him he had to get clean so he could think straight. That everything might look different to him then. And he agreed. He promised he’d rebuild his life, said his mother, who’s dirt-poor herself, would let him stay with her until he could get into a good rehab if he could just get down south. That’s why I gave him my address. So he could pick up the money to take a bus to Los Angeles and go into rehab. I thought nothing of it, you know? Obviously I should have, but I didn’t. It never even crossed my mind that he could be dangerous, or that I should’ve sent the money to him some other way. He came and got it. But instead of purchasing the ticket, he spent the money on meth, came back to my house in the middle of the night and—” She cleared her throat to keep her voice from wobbling.
Rod broke in before she could force the rest out. “And betrayed your trust,” he said softly.
“Yes.” She blinked rapidly, trying to stop any other tears. “He once robbed a liquor store and was already an ex-con, so I guess I should’ve known I couldn’t trust him.”
Rod reached across the table to take her hand. He didn’t speak. His fingers just toyed with hers until she could overcome her emotions. Then he let go. “Hindsight is always 20/20,” he said. “Ignore anyone who doesn’t believe you. You will get past what happened. Eventually.”
Encouraged, she nodded. “I hate to bring this up, since we’ve agreed to forget about it and I’m still embarrassed, but...I’m glad you turned me down Friday night.”
His fork froze on its way to his mouth. “Because...”
She picked up her water glass. “Because I underestimated you so badly. You’re worth far more as a friend than a quick lay.”
He seemed to carefully consider her words. Then, after a brief pause, he gave a little shrug. “I guess friends will be a good place to start.”
“To start?” she echoed.
“I’m going to want to sleep with you eventually,” he said, and when he didn’t so much as crack a smile, she knew it wasn’t a joke.
9
The more India relaxed, the more Rod enjoyed being with her. He’d thought she might be so overwhelmed by what she was going through that she wouldn’t be able to forget it long enough to have any fun. But by the time they finished dinner, she seemed happy with the distraction he brought to her life. In any case, she didn’t mention her late husband again. She talked about her shop and what she hoped to accomplish there, even showed him pictures of various pieces she’d made and asked his opinion on which ones he felt would be the most popular.
He could see that she was talented, which gave him a measure of relief. She wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being successful if she wasn’t good. It was going to be tough as it was. There were a lot of artisans in Gold Country, but only the best stayed in business.
She also showed him pictures of her little girl. Cassia wasn’t the refined beauty her mother was, but she was definitely cute, with bright orange hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
India didn’t just talk about herself. She acted interested in his life, too. She asked questions about his family. They weren’t intrusive ones, though. Since he didn’t like talking about his mother, he was grateful she didn’t go back to that subject. She mostly wanted to know what his brothers were like and had him show her a picture of Aaron and Dylan, whom she hadn’t met, as well as Natasha.
“She’s beautiful,” India said as she gazed down at his stepsister’s image on his phone. They’d left the restaurant in Jackson and returned to Whiskey Creek for dessert—to the ice cream parlor. He wanted to get India circulating around town so she’d have an easier time adjusting to the move. Since there wasn’t much employment in Whiskey Creek, it was great that she didn’t need a job. But working out of her house kept her isolated and alone with her problems. He didn’t think that would be good for her. He’d seen the worry in her face start to disappear as they talked and laughed and enjoyed their food. As far as he was concerned, she should get out more often.
“Natasha is pretty,” he said. “But she’s sort of...like me and my brothers, I guess.”
India paused before taking another spoonful of her mocha almond fudge sundae. “Meaning...”
“She’s had a rough past, and sometimes it shows.”
“You’re talking about the tattoos and the piercings?”
“I’m talking about her behavior. She often pushes away the very things she needs, tells the people she cares about most to go to hell. Stuff like that. But anyone would be screwed up after being raised by Anya.” He thought of Natasha’s salty language, which was worse than anyone else’s in the family. “She’s got a chip on her shoulder. She’s also opinionated, thinks she can take on the whole world by herself.”
“What’s that about?”
“It’s all bluster. She’s lonely and trying to make sure no one knows it. She’s also angry, which means she’s her own worst enemy. I understand that because I spent so many years being angry myself. You can get into deep trouble if you can’t admit when you really want something or need someone.”
India wiped her mouth with one of the small paper napkins they’d been handed with their ice cream. “The way you guys have taken her in and looked out for her is wonderful.”
Rod thought of his concern for Mack and the fact that he suspected his youngest brother’s feelings weren’t quite as brotherly as they should be, but he didn’t say anything. The last thing he’d ever do was make one of his brothers look bad. “Like I told you at dinner, she’ll be heading to college next fall—to Utah—so our job is essentially done.”
India straightened in her seat. “I’m glad you were willing to take responsibility for her. I bet it changed her whole life. But what you just said almost sounds like you’re booting her out of the family.”
“No, not at all,” he responded, backing away from the finality with which he’d spoken a moment earlier. “The situation will change. That’s all.�
�� He hoped it would change for the better—that she’d find a boyfriend and put his misgivings to rest. She hadn’t had a single steady relationship in Whiskey Creek, rejected all romantic attention. Rod feared that her heart was set on Mack, but surely she’d forget him once she went to college and met so many other possibilities. Men she could date without the negative sentiment that would arise if she and Mack got together, especially in such a small town...
“You mean she’s growing up,” India clarified.
He took the out she’d given him, even though he’d actually meant more than that. “Right.”
Since he’d finished his own ice cream and she was eating so slowly, he helped himself to some of hers.
She slid it closer—an invitation to take all he wanted.
“I have a question for you,” he said.
“What’s it about?”
“Sebastian.”
She grimaced as if she didn’t like hearing his name. “I thought we were done talking about him.”
“I need to know a couple more things.”
“Such as...”
“I couldn’t find anything online about the date of his next trial.”
“Because there isn’t going to be another trial,” she said. “I heard the news myself yesterday. The DA’s afraid he won’t have any better luck with a new jury. He’s decided to wait and see if the police can dig up more evidence.”
This was not good news, but Rod had been halfway expecting it. “How do you feel about that?”
Her eyes grew troubled again, the way they’d been at the restaurant when they were discussing her situation. “How do you think I feel? They’ve released him. He’s out, God knows where.”